


Guardian

by AKMars



Category: Gargoyles (TV), Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Implied Character Death, M/M, Slash, Supernatural Creatures, Violence, au elements, snow is an asshole in this story too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the first meeting of Harold Finch and Reese takes place in entirely different circumstances and Harold finds a protector for the people of New York that is more appropriate than he could have ever imagined.  There will be slash and did I mention that John Reese is a gargoyle?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dark And Stormy Night

Title: Guardian  
Chapter I: It Was A Dark and Stormy Night  
Rating: T (will go up to NC-17 in later chapters)  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: AU elements, supernatural creatures, M/M relationships, explicit sex (in later chapters), violence, implied character death (past tense).

NOTES: Will someone please, please give me an effective plot-bunny repellent?! This little bugger swooped down out of the rafters and bit me on the ankle before I even knew what was going on. Although not a true cross-over with the 'Gargoyles' animated series, this story pulls some themes/elements from that universe and without apology mates them with the 'PoI'verse. 

This one is going to be short (hahahahahahaha!!! I can't believe I typed that with a straight face....), four chapters and may be updated here and there in the future with one-shots as the mood takes me. 

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

_Of all the times for this to happen....._

Harold Finch turned up the collar of his overcoat with a long-suffering sigh. His driver's wife had just gone into labor and inconvenienced as Finch felt personally, he wouldn't think of requiring the man to chauffeur him in such circumstances. The billionaire offered up his congratulations even as he weighed his options. On the one hand, the theatre was only three long blocks away from the library. On the other, a cold autumn rain had been pelting Manhattan for a good hour, showing no signs of ending soon.

The recluse frowned up at the dark sky, taking the current weather conditions almost as a personal insult. While Harold could call a cab, the urge to prove himself stronger than mere elements drove him to raise the shield of his umbrella and limp out into the storm. 

Halfway into his trek found Finch cursing his pride in fluent and highly colorful terms. _I am an idiot....but I'll be damned if I give in now._ He was so focused on maintaining his determination, it wasn't until he was dragged into the alley that he realized he was no longer alone.

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

_Traffic, trains, sirens and music. The muted susurration of millions of voices and overlaying all, the relentless patter of heavy drops falling onto the great metropolis. It was quieter now than during the light of day, yes but by no means silent. This was New York and New York was most emphatically the city that never slept._

_Far above the artificially bright streets a single, silent figure watched the tiny beings below scurry about their lives. At this distance, individuals blurred into one teeming mass of humanity....the city’s lifeblood flowing through arteries of asphalt and steel. One stood out however; it’s stilted, halting gait out of synch with the rest. The watcher bent his attention upon it, going so far as to follow, curious where the bobbing black umbrella might lead._

_Because of this, he saw it disappear into a narrow side street, his keen hearing picking up a muffled cry of pain. Lips curling into a snarl, the watcher hurled himself from his perch and into the darkness._

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

"Give me your wallet, prick!" 

Rough hands slammed the recluse against a brick wall, forcing a bark of pain out of Finch. The umbrella slipped from nerveless fingers. His glasses went flying as Harold was shaken hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

"Hand it over old man!" Before Finch had the chance to pull himself together, he felt his attacker patting him down. Invasive, strange fingers pushed into the pockets of his waistcoat; ripping the lining of his suit jacket in their haste to relieve him of his cash.

When the hands reached for his trousers, Harold began to struggle. The rain had soaked him through, adding what felt like many pounds of extra weight to his already taxed frame and exhausting him almost at once.

"You've taken my money...just let me go." he gasped out. 

"Shut it pops!" The mugger back-handed Finch hard, splitting his lip. "You must have something real good in there if you don't want me touching you." 

Harold's eyes widened at the _snick_ of a switchblade. He redoubled his efforts to break free.

"You got a money-belt? Maybe I better cut those fancy pants off and take a look."

_"No!"_ Harold turned unfocused eyes towards the alley mouth. "Help! Please, someone...HELP ME!"

The fuzzy wash of light coming from the street was blocked for a split second but Finch's hopes of assistance were dashed when no accompanying footsteps or shouts were heard. Harold yelped in pain as the man grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. The knife flashed in front of his eyes and he shut them, not wanting to see himself being gutted.

A roar echoed off the alley walls, almost deafening Finch with its intensity. The recluse sprawled to the pavement as the arms holding him upright were ripped away. Harold struggled to remain conscious, feebly scrabbling through the trash surrounding him for his glasses. The thief was babbling now, writhing in the grip of the third player in their surreal drama. One flailing leg caught the billionaire in his side.

Finch winced as a searing pain shot up his neck. He crumpled, falling into a puddle of dirty water. Harold could just make out a huge shadow towering above him. The thump of running feet faded into the distance, adrenaline fueling their haste. Finch's eyes fluttered and he tried once more to communicate.

_"Help....please."_ He managed to push through chattering teeth before he passed out.

He was unaware of being gathered up into gentle arms as easily as if he were a ragdoll; nor anything of his journey afterwards.

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

Harold woke to find the morning sun painting his face with shades of blue, red, purple and yellow. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the intensity of the rays. He was staring into a blurry sphere of color. Finch tried to move, pushing against the heavy cocoon of blankets wrapping him in warmth.

_These are wool and I’m-_ he touched himself, blushing as he felt bare skin against his fingers. Panic fluttered in Harold's stomach as he struggled out of the makeshift bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a dark lump on the floor next to him and reached out to grab a handful of fabric.

_My suit! and...thank God!_ Finch donned his glasses with a grateful sigh and surveyed his surroundings. Mercifully, he was alone. Taking in a deep breath to settle his nerves, Harold examined the pile of clothing. Shoes, socks, trousers, waistcoat....even his tie was there. Oddly enough the only thing missing was his undershirt and, Finch slipped a hand down to his hips, exhaling in relief as he realized he was still wearing his boxers.

His phone, keys and wallet were laid neatly to one side; the mobile device weighing down a scrap of paper. Harold held it up and read the single word scrawled across it in block letters: **SAFE**

He scanned the room, committing every detail to memory. _Dressed stone walls, wooden floor....stained glass rose window, ah!_ This was the source of the ‘circular rainbow’ that had awakened him. _It must be a church._ Stacks of old hymn books piled in a corner and a partial pew confirmed his suspicions. _But which one and where?_ Finch shook his head to clear it. First things first, he needed to get dressed and then make his way to the nearest safe house.

Harold was struck by the utter silence of the place. He kept one ear on the doorway as he began to dress. His clothes were still a bit damp, as was his hair but he seemed to have suffered no permanent ill-effects due to his ordeal. The recluse's shoulder and back ached from their rough treatment at the hands of his attacker. Finch gingerly touched his lip. It was puffy and sore yet when Harold examined his fingers there were no traces of blood.

He sat down on the pew to put on his socks and shoes; giving the room more careful scrutiny now that he was clothed again. There were some personal belongings scattered about. A stack of books rested next to a long-legged stool in the opposite corner. The shelf above held a box of votive candles along with several red glass cups. _A Catholic church then...._

Among the blanket nest was a crocheted afghan, its crazy riot of colors showing it to be comprised of whatever tag ends of yarn that had come to hand. _My rescuer must be homeless; squatting in this abandoned church. Fortunately for me they knew enough first aid to get me out of my wet things, then keep me warm and dry._ Harold felt a twinge of guilt in his chest. He passed homeless people every day in this city...paying more attention to stray rubbish blowing across his path than the disenfranchised humans who were reduced to living on the streets.

Finch was humbled by the fact that a complete stranger not only had fought off the mugger but kept Harold from succumbing to hypothermia as well. A stranger who, far from stealing what the other hadn't, took him to shelter and protected him while he was unconscious. Nothing had been touched in his wallet. Money, ID, credit cards; all of it was there. His eyes fell upon the note again. _**SAFE.** Safe indeed but who brought me here?_

Leaving money seemed gauche to the recluse but in truth he had nothing else on him to offer in gratitude. Finch pulled five $20 bills out and making up the pallet as best he could, placed them on top of the afghan. He wrote a brief message on the blank side of the note, laying it on top of the currency and tucking all under a corner of the blanket so that a stray breeze wouldn't dislodge anything.

_Please accept my deepest thanks for your assistance. If you find yourself in need of help I can be reached at the following number._

He signed the name of a lesser used alias, Harold Dunlin; one that had only a modest bank account attached to it. Even in the face of appearances to the contrary, Finch wasn't about to take chances with his security. Especially in a situation where the variables were so unpredictable.

Finch negotiated the staircase with care, emerging into a derelict sanctuary. There were more signs of infrequent habitation on this level too but strangely not a trace of graffiti or vandalism. Harold thought it odd, given the building's original purpose. He found a side door that deposited him in a surprisingly clean alley and making his way to the street, quickly realized he was on the outskirts of the Village. Fifteen minutes later saw him settled in a warm cab, ready to make his way back to the Upper West Side. 

Finch glanced at the church's sign, its letters faded from the elements but still legible: _St. Michael's of Greenwich_. He made a note of the address, the corner of Cornelia and Bleecker as the driver pulled away from the curb. Absorbed in his mobile, Harold didn’t even notice the incredibly life-like sculpture perched on a ledge just below the bell tower; its powerful form framed by a beautiful rose window.

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

NOTES: Sorry for going off on yet another tanget everyone....This story is actually fleshed out to completion and just needs to have the details added. Then I'll be back to 'Rocket Man' and 'Eagle & Shrike', I SWEAR it. And plotbunnies? Take note: the next one of you that cozies up to me thinking they can tempt me into starting a new story will be facing a sprayer full of pesticide. You have been warned......

Oh and man on gargoyle action in later chapters is a given. You have been warned......


	2. A Legend Lives

Title: Guardian  
Chapter II: A Legend Lives  
Rating: M  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: AU elements, supernatural creatures, M/M relationships, explicit sex (in later chapters), violence, implied character death (past tense).

 **guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

_Harold Finch returned to his solitary and currently futile existence. In the aftermath of his partner's murder, Harold had struggled to keep Nathan's work alive. Utilizing his considerable means, he tried to save as many of the irrelevant numbers the Machine flagged as he could. His efforts were spectacular in their failure._

The recluse sat slumped in front of his computers, staring with bleak despair at a photo of one Hernan Rodriguez. The handsome young man had been a promising sculptor; only just coming to the public's notice and producing some of the most viscerally powerful and beautiful works Finch had ever seen. 

Unfortunately, Rodriguez's outspoken stance on social reforms and his instinctive affinity for the dance of politics proved to be his undoing. The artist's growing influence with the mayor and city council was threatening to certain other interests. Before Harold could ascertain the identities of those who wanted Hernan out of the way, Rodriguez had been gunned down in the street as he left his studio one night. The police chalked it up as a random act of violence and the art world briefly mourned the loss of its rising star.

Finch keenly felt his helplessness. He could uncover facts, research backgrounds and find links where none appeared to exist but due to his physical limitations, he could not function effectively outside his technological kingdom. True he’d forwarded his files to a detective in the 8th precinct he knew to be honest but the fact remained, Hernan Rodriguez was dead and no amount of remorse or good intentions could change that.

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

The alley door of St. Michael's creaked open and a grizzled head poked inside to take a look around. Archer hadn't survived as long as he had, both in combat and on the streets without trusting his instincts. The Gulf War veteran cautiously made his way to the sanctuary and placed a cardboard box in front of the altar. He looked up towards the exposed rafters. When he spoke, his tone was respectful.

"Hey man....thanks for leaving that money for me. I got back on my meds and I just....well...thanks." Archer nodded towards the box. "I brought you some food."

The former soldier exited the church and it was a full ten minutes before a dark shape thumped to the stone floor. Large hands engulfed the box and the figure leapt upwards again. A quiet rumble echoed through the empty space.

_"Thank you...."_

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

_Harold was cold; consumed with the bone deep chill that came from being immersed in near freezing water. Violent shivering caused his limbs to tremble uncontrollably and he clenched his teeth to silence their chattering as spasms wracked his jaw muscles._

_He was distantly conscious of being undressed, though the sensations of wet cloth being dragged over his body was of secondary concern compared to the continued loss of body heat. The rough towel scrubbing across his scalp and torso pulled him back to a brief state of clarity, enough so that he could focus on the muscular arms that were drying him as best they could._

_Awareness slipped away again and Finch had the oddest sensation of floating. He groaned in protest as the tremors in his muscles increased. All at once he was wrapped in a strong embrace, his body flush up against a source of living heat. Instinctively Harold pushed towards the life-giving warmth; his arms scrabbling to span a masculine waist, his legs tangling with another's._

_The recluse sighed in bliss, his shivers slowly dissipating until he lay limp and relaxed in the bubble of warmth surrounding him. Finch rubbed his face on the broad chest supporting him, comforted by the strong, steady heartbeat in his ear. “Nathan...”, he murmured, pressing a kiss into the smooth skin._

_“It’s alright, you’re safe.”_

_The deep, velvety voice calmed Finch even more. He couldn’t begin to say why but he knew that the being holding him would never offer him harm. Harold pushed his groin into the point of a hip, groaning again as he felt himself stiffen._

_“Shhh....you must rest now.” Warm breath stirred his hair as these words were whispered in his ear. “Sleep.”_

_“Mmmmmm....” was the only reply as Finch did as he was told._

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

Finch was mortified when he woke the next morning, his memory recollections still vivid from the dream. To have mistaken his good Samaritan for his former partner was one thing but to actually call him Nathan? Harold was certain he'd never be able to look the homeless man in the eye should they ever meet again. 

His nameless rescuer had taken neither offense nor advantage, however and the recluse’s astonishment at the whole situation only intensified. _Who was he?_ Finch had also been surprised that the man made no attempt to contact him, not even to solicit more money. Harold was eaten up by curiosity and, with no new number as yet presenting itself, decided to do some digging.

Finch tapped into the traffic cam system, pulling up the surveillance footage from the night of his attack. Watching events through the detachment of black and white, Harold still felt a chill of fear crawl up his spine as he saw the mugger spot him, then slip inside the dark mouth of the alley.

The recluse was ashamed of how weak his slight, limping form looked. _Face it Harold, you have ‘victim’ written all over you._ He’d just passed by the opening when the other man struck, grabbing Finch by the collar and yanking him into the hidden space. Less than a minute later a large blur streaked down from above, zipping into the alley.

_“What the?!”_

Harold paused the video, queuing it back to the proper time stamp and playing it in slow motion. Something _enormous_ had flown into the alley. He let the video continue and saw his attacker stumble out into the street, sprawling on his hands and knees; clearly jibbering in fear. The man made it to his feet and took off running as if the devil himself were at his heels. What he witnessed next stopped his breath.

A humanoid being emerged from the alley. Cradled in its arms was Finch‘s unconscious body. The creature looked up and down the street. It adjusted Harold so that he rested against its chest, freeing one of its arms. Leaping up, it dug its claws into the stone facade of a building and _began to climb_. With its back to the camera, the creature’s wings were clearly visible, as was its tail. Finch sat down hard, a chuff of pure disbelief escaping him. He re-played the video again and again, unwilling to accept what his eyes were seeing but unable to deny the truth.

Harold Finch had been rescued by a _gargoyle_.

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

Finch spent the next three days tracking down every scrap of information on gargoyles he could find. Most sources focused on the legend and lore of these supernatural beings. The few cryptozoological texts he came across were consistent on several points. Gargoyles were trapped in their stone form during daylight, transforming into living flesh only when the sun set. They could fly and were the traditional protectors of humankind.

It was during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries that man turned away from these remarkable creatures, embracing the truths of science and rational thought as they left behind myth and superstition. Without people to guard their stone forms in return, gargoyles were destroyed one by one through human wars or simply weathering and neglect of the castles they called home. By the time of the American Revolution only a scant handful of these guardians were left. 

Some made their way to the new world in the hands of ex-pat royalty or as treasured acquisitions of the _nouveau-riche_ ; to adorn their homes as symbols of their wealth and status. 

Finch watched more than a few grainy videos that purported to be gargoyle sightings in New York over the past half-century. Many he dismissed as outright fakes, either college students in costume or clever digital manipulations. Of those few that seemed credible, none matched the quality of his own recording. A part of Harold was elated. Here he had proof positive that gargoyles not only were real but one was living on Manhattan Island!

He had to go back to Greenwich Village....back to the church. He wanted to set up a spy cam and learn more about his unusual savior. _If it is intelligent, can be reasoned with then perhaps-_ Finch cut that train of thought off at once. He had to find out first if he _could_ communicate with the creature. If not then it would be best to just let it be. 

Harold began to make plans. He had much to do before making his return to St. Michael’s but... _what exactly does one bring to a meeting with a gargoyle?_

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

NOTES: Hope everyone is enjoying this so far. Thanks for all your kudos and comments and I promise, I won’t outright murder any plotbunnies, lol.....tempting though it may be.

.


	3. Meeting of the Minds

Title: Guardian  
Chapter III: Meeting of the Minds  
Rating: T  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: AU elements, supernatural creatures, M/M relationships, explicit sex (in later chapters), violence, implied character death (past tense).

 **guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

_Another number flagged, another life offered up for Finch to save or bring to justice and....in the end, another failure. This one resulting in an abandoned factory burned to the ground for insurance money and the death of the security guard summoned to 'investigate reports of an intruder' on the premises._

_Finch paced the length of the reading room, heartsick at his own uselessness. Every step drove home his deficiencies...his weakness; grating on him more and more until he slammed his fists on either side of his workstation._

_**"I can't help them! I'm not-"** Harold's head dropped as a sob shook his slender frame. **"I'm not strong enough. I'm not enough of anything...."**_

_Finch slid down into his chair with a thump, cradling his face in his hands. It was demeaning to realize that with all his intelligence, his money....the technology available at his fingertips, he was inadequate. People had died....would still die and the blame rested squarely upon his shoulders._

_**"I don't know what to do....."**_

_This admission; a quiet, bewildered whisper cost him the last shreds of his confidence. Harold Finch felt truly broken...beyond hope or redemption no matter what he may try to do. A faint chirp came from the speaker next to his ear. It sounded a second time, penetrating Finch's despair enough so that he raised his eyes to the monitor in front of him._

_A window popped up, playing the video of his rescue from the alley. Harold stared at it, frowning as he tried to understand what his creation was showing him._

_**"What does this have-"**_

_The speakers chirped again as a second window opened, this one showing the roof of what appeared to be a church. Finch read the location signature of the camera. It was the facade of St. Michael's. Harold leaned in closer as the camera view switched to one directly across from the church. He saw the dark circle of a rose window and an empty ledge in front of it. He was about to ask his Machine what he was supposed to be looking at when a large figure dropped down onto it. The gargoyle stretched, then lowered itself into a crouch; one arm supporting its upper body, the other resting on a knee. It's wings settled into a half-furled position and it looked out over the street below._

_Harold saw its body heave once, almost as if sighing, then grow still. The first rays of the morning sun washed over it. When the light was bright enough, Finch gasped. The creature had become solid stone._

_**"Do you mean go to 'it'? How can that help-"**_

_The Machine replaced this view with the still looping vid clip of Finch being carried in the gargoyle's arms. The recluse settled back into his chair, his mind calculating variables; worrying at the possible solution to his dilemma. If his creation was right and that was a big 'if'....the gargoyle would be well-suited to assist him._

_**The problem,** Harold thought, **will be trying to convince it to.** He pulled himself out of the chair, gathering up coat and the leather satchel of items he'd assembled days ago. Finch called his car service. He would make a quick stop to change and eat, then he would be ready to return to Greenwich Village._

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

_St. Michael's of Greenwich; late afternoon, same day_

Curious brown eyes watched the stranger from a concealed position; cataloging every detail about the man. _Casual clothing, new, appears uncomfortable in it. Expensive shoes, quality leather bag. Rich man...banker maybe, normally wears a suit. Limp and limited movement in one arm. Neck and back injuries, possible spinal fusion surgery. No weapons. Probability of defensive engagement...non-existent._ The watcher made his move.

"Help you find something, mister?" A man wearing tattered jeans and an old army coat stepped out of a side street. His tone was pleasant but Finch noted his eyes moving over Harold's form with sharp intent. The recluse took an involuntary step back.

The newcomer halted at once. "Not gonna do anything, sir. But there are other folks out here that _would_." He held his hands up, showing they were empty. "Might be best if you just called a cab and went back uptown."

"I plan on doing just that as soon as my business is concluded." Finch replied firmly; pleased that his voice _sounded_ confident at least. Keeping one eye on the ragged figure, he turned towards the church.

"Best not plan on stealing if you go inside. John'll not take too kindly to that."

Harold stopped, turning to face the homeless man again. "John? Who's John?"

"Lives there...most people call him 'Joan's John'...or just John and nobody who wants to live a peaceful life takes anything from St. Michael's or messes with anyone who's staying there."

"Have you seen him?"

The excitement in Finch's voice caused the other man to shut down. "Why do you want to know?"

Harold could read mistrust in every line of the vagrant's posture. "I intend him no harm. He prevented a mugger from assaulting me a few nights ago and I just wanted to thank him."

After a long moment the homeless man nodded and stepped forward offering his hand. "Name's Archer. You aiming to do something nice for John then I'll pass word along that you're not to be bothered if you come back again."

Harold took Archer's hand without hesitation, shaking it warmly. "I assure you that is my intent. Can you tell me what he looks like? It was too dark for me to see him properly."

"Big..." was the immediate reply. "He stays in the shadows mostly. No-one's ever seen him out during the day and even when some of us leave things for him, food and stuff, he waits until we're gone to take it."

"Who is Joan, his wife?"

Archer shook his head, a pitying smile crossing his lips. "Nah. Joan was a regular on Cornelia Street for years. All of us stayed away from St. Michael's...too many stories of vandals winding up with bruises, black eyes or being tied up for the cops to find. But Joan....she was always curious."

"She bedded down in the church one night and never left. Said the place wasn't haunted, that John was just looking after it. Said that anyone who needed shelter and didn't cause any trouble was welcome to sleep there if they needed to."

Finch couldn't believe his luck. "Is Joan here? Might I be able to speak with her?" 

Archer scratched his beard, his eyes sad. "No. She was killed last year. Don't know what happened to her but rumor has it that someone was trying to hurt John and she got in the way. He's been even more secretive since then. Won't even talk to us."

The veteran looked Harold over once more. "You want to give him something, then lay it next to the altar. You can get into the church through a side door in the alley." 

“Thank you.” Finch reached for his wallet. The ex-soldier frowned.

“You don’t owe me nothin’....”

“On the contrary, you’ve done more for our country than I could ever hope to.” Harold held out a card. “I am most appreciative of your service, Mr. Archer.”

The veteran took it, pocketing the small rectangle of pasteboard before making his way down the street. The recluse watched him go, hoping that he would reach out to ‘Mr. Dunlin’ at some time in the future.”

Finch turned into the alley next to St. Michael’s. It was time to get to work.

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

_**sunset; St. Michael’s of Greenwich** _

_The sun disappeared behind angular peaks of glass and concrete. As the last of its rays faded from view a crazing of lines appeared over the surface of the statue on the church’s roof. With a loud **crack** , the stone skin of the figure disintegrated, revealing the living creature within._

_The gargoyle stretched, flexing his wings and breathing deeply of the evening air. He waited with infinite patience. It was still barely twilight and until full dark he would stay on his perch. He’d not survived the centuries by being over-hasty._

_A quiet scuffling reached his ears and he turned towards the rose window behind him. Someone was in the church....more specifically, his lair! The gargoyle snarled and he stealthily climbed to the bell-tower. He would surprise his unwanted guest._

_“Damn....”_ Finch swore under his breath as he struggled to place the last of his miniature cameras. It was getting close to sunset and he needed to be gone before the gargoyle awoke. With a sigh of relief Harold finished and gathered his tools. He turned to put them in his satchel and came face to face with nearly seven feet of living nightmare.

_“Why are you here?”_

Hardware went flying as Finch yelped in terror and sprawled on his backside at the gargoyle’s feet. The recluse gasped like a stranded fish; too frightened to force words through his clamped teeth. He held his hands up to ward off attack, knocking his glasses askew as he attempted to protect his face.

The creature bent down to study him. “You are the man from the alley.” Finch recognized the voice from his dream-memories. Warm, curious, non-threatening but the gargoyle’s next words gave him pause.

“Why did you come back? What do you want, human?”

Realizing that quivering in fear was no way to make a good impression, Harold took a deep breath and forced himself to his knees. He straightened his glasses and, keeping his eyes on his questioner, reached out with one hand to grope for something to use as a brace.

An exasperated rumble echoed in his ears and strong hands slid under Finch’s armpits, lifting him from the floor to set him on his feet. At once they were removed and the mythical being simply waited.

“Th-thank you.” Harold studied the gargoyle, awestruck to find himself face to face with a living, breathing legend. It was six-ten, or thereabouts; with a powerful, stocky build. Its legs were slightly bowed.... _to counterbalance those magnificent wings, I’m sure..._ and its feet ended in four wickedly sharp claws. The gargoyle’s hands sported five fingers, also clawed and it had a curiously heavy brow. Black hair going silver at the temples was tied back by a thong. Its tail twitched from side to side; much as a curious cat’s would.

It's skin was smooth otherwise and except for a linen loin-wrap, he was naked. Finch found his eyes roving over the muscled limbs and torso in admiration. _He must be incredibly strong._ He shook his head, realizing his reluctant host was expecting an answer.

“I apologize for intruding, but I did want to speak to you.”

“And you do that by entering my home uninvited?” The eyes flicked to the alcove above Harold’s head and one arm reached out to pluck the wireless camera from its perch. When the gargoyle looked at his visitor again, his teeth were bared in anger.

“You seek to spy upon me?” The camera was engulfed in the gargoyle’s hand, crushed to fragments that it scattered on the stone floor. “I think it is time you left, scholar.”

“Please!” Clawed hands balled themselves in Finch’s shirt, lifting him bodily from the ground; his feet dangling in mid-air. Harold gripped the creature’s wrists, struggling to gain some leverage. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you...I know what you are. I just-”

“I _know_ what you wanted!” The gargoyle’s face crowded his own, its snarling fangs a hairsbreadth from his ear. “You're not the first who's come searching for _**'the monster'**_!”

“I don’t think you’re a monster John,” Harold gulped trying to catch his breath. “I think all you want is to protect people.”

Abruptly, he was dropped to the floor. Finch winced as he landed on his bad leg. When he looked up again, the gargoyle was gaping at him, its wings opening and closing in confusion. 

“How do you know this...how do you know my name?” The whisper was barely audible.

Harold swallowed. “After you rescued me, I did some research. I found out all I could about....beings like yourself. I wanted to talk to you, to thank you and....maybe learn from you.” 

John dropped to his haunches so that his face was level with Harold’s. His expression now held a tinge of smugness. “A scholar in fact. I _was_ right.”

“Scholar? Why do you call me that?”

Blue eyes widened in surprise, then closed halfway as a deep bass chuckling pushed its way out of the huge barrel chest. Harold was relieved to see the other’s face break into a smile. “You just answered your own question, I think.”

Finch smiled in return, nodding to acknowledge the joke was on him. He winced again as pain lanced through his hip. With a grunt of dismay, John reached out and gathered the recluse into his arms. Harold had the good sense to stay limp as he was carried into the next room and deposited onto the familiar pallet of blankets. 

The gargoyle’s hands were gentle as they settled Finch in place. Harold marveled anew at John’s strength and size. He would be a most formidable opponent in any confrontation.

"I have no wish to hurt you. I am a warrior but as you observed, I am also a guardian."

Finch calmed his breathing. "You can call me Mr. Finch."

"I am Reese. John was the name given to me by someone very dear to me." The gargoyle looked away.

"Joan?" Harold's voice was quiet.

_"How do you know these things?!"_ Reese roared, backing away as his eyes blazed white. "Or are you sorcerer as well as scholar?"

It took the recluse a moment to realize John was afraid. _Why would he fear me? He could kill me without effort._ Regardless, Harold had to calm Reese down.

"I spoke with a man named Archer. He told me about Joan and warned me not to disturb the church. I apologize if I've upset you."

John's wings relaxed, his eyes dimming back to blue. He grumbled as he moved around the room to light some candles. Finch took the opportunity to study the gargoyle further. His skin was a golden tan color and now that Harold was no longer terrified, he could see the odd scar marring the gargoyle's hide. John's features were rugged and to Finch's eyes, very handsome. He moved with a grace that rivaled a tiger's; perfectly in control of his powerful body. Harold sighed...reminded all the more of his own lack of physical strength. 

"Joan died trying to protect me. I will never be able to remove the stain of her blood from my hands."

The recluse winced at the sadness in the gargoyle's voice; empathizing with Reese's self-imposed guilt. _We each have our burdens it seems. Perhaps we can begin to absolve them together._

"I am also a.... _guardian_ of sorts. I have access to information on people....people who are about to be involved in very bad situations. They might be another's victim or a perpetrator themselves."

The gargoyle turned back, giving his full attention to the stranger who'd dared to invade his home. 

"Gathering knowledge on these people is not my problem....not actually being able to help them is." Harold indicated his leg. "I'm not strong enough to fight; I cannot run...sometimes I can barely walk." 

Reese could hear the man's frustration with his own limitations in his voice. _He's telling the truth. He is also braver than he gives himself credit for. I can see the pain of his failures in his eyes._ The gargoyle felt a sense of kinship with this Finch. 

"We have somewhat in common, it appears."

"I hoped you might feel that way. Would you come back to _my_....sanctuary? Let me explain more about what I do and why I wanted to meet you?"

_So it was that the gargoyle found himself riding the night winds above the skyscrapers, keeping Finch's cab in sight as he followed the recluse to his base of operations._

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

NOTES: As always, there's backstory to be explained....one more chapter of 'Guardian' will be posted very soon and then 'Guardian' one-shots will make an appearance from time to time. Thanks for the warm reception for this story everyone!


	4. Keeper Of the Night

Title: Guardian  
Chapter IV: The Keeper of the Night  
Rating: M (language)  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: AU elements, supernatural creatures, M/M relationships, explicit sex

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_Upper West Side, Manhattan Island; six months later_

Reese burst forth from his stone shell; chips of granite littering the alcove that had become his resting place since joining forces with the ubiquitous Mr. Finch. The gargoyle stretched, working his back and wing muscles in preparation for the night's business. 

_John had been pleased to see that the library's attic held a window similar to the one at St. Michael's. The building's upper floor made a comfortable enough aerie and he moved his few possessions into it after only a week into his new partnership. Shortly thereafter, the recluse relocated their base of operations to one of his many safe houses; ostensibly so that some basic maintenance to the library's structural supports could be done._

_The first time Reese arrived at the library after these 'repairs', he found Finch had renovated the attic for the gargoyle's use. The empty space had been finished with a full kitchen installed as well as a palatial bathroom (the walk in shower was large enough for John to fully extend his wings, one at a time at least)._

_In the far corner stood a custom-built mattress and bed frame. Although the gargoyle seldom had the opportunity to use it, the few times Reese did sprawl across its nine by nine foot expanse he'd reveled in the luxurious comfort._

_A specially designed backless sofa along with an upright, human-sized reading chair sat against the opposite wall, surrounded by floor to ceiling bookcases. Indirect lighting cast a glow that was more forgiving on eyes suited to darkness._

The loft was now warm, inviting and certainly the first real home Reese could remember having since his rookery days. Tonight Harold Finch seated at the dining table, folder in hand and opposite a place set for one. 

"We have a new number?"

Finch nodded, indicating that Reese should eat. The gargoyle did so, making inroads on the rare steak and vegetables the recluse provided. As had become their routine on evenings when there was work ahead, Harold briefed his partner while John broke his fast. 

Reese listened, asking for clarification on a point here and there and offering his own suggestions in regards to surveillance. Finch's willingness to defer to the gargoyle's knowledge of the city and its aerial vantage points had been a revelation to John. From the beginning Reese fully expected the human to assume he knew best in all things....but Harold Finch so consistently surprised John that he'd given up trying to categorize the recluse months ago. 

"This one seems fairly straightforward, but we've been caught unawares in the past." Finch admitted ruefully.

"What about Lionel?"

Finch's lips thinned. "Detective Fusco is currently watching Ms. Brewster's apartment. He'll inform us if she leaves so that you can follow her movements."

Reese smiled as he finished the last of the food. His partner had been less than receptive when the gargoyle 'recruited' Fusco during one of their interventions. Although initially coerced into assisting with the numbers (and even now still oblivious to the source of their information), Lionel had proven his worth many times over. Even Finch acknowledged the detective's use as an informant in the police department.

"You must begin to trust him sometime, Finch." The gargoyle rumbled in amusement. "Lionel understands what we do now and wishes to make amends for his own past...not so different than us, I think."

The recluse huffed in annoyance. "Easier said than done."

"Which is easier? Trusting a down at heels cop on the take or a _thing_ borne of medieval nightmares?" 

Finch had the good grace to look abashed. The truth was he _did_ trust John. With the secret of his Machine, with his very life. Much had happened in a scant six months since Harold’s initial encounter with the creature now sitting before him. Finch felt as if he’d been granted a new lease on life. So many irrelevants or their targets, had been saved and it was due almost wholly to John. 

He met Reese's gaze over his glasses and seeing the smirk on his partner's features, started to laugh. Harold held his hands up in mock surrender. The gargoyle's speech patterns were beginning to reflect a more modern vernacular thanks to the conversations he overheard in his work and it made the recluse smile.

"Point taken. Are you ready to begin?"

John washed his hands and then knelt before Finch's chair. The first time the gargoyle had done this, Harold felt uncomfortable; as if Reese were paying homage to a master. It made sense however, the gargoyle's claws were too big to place the earwig properly. 

John tilted his head and Harold situated the listening device in his ear canal, then the wireless microphone around his neck; making sure both were secure. Finch was very conscious of the gargoyle’s incredible power as his hands brushed John’s shoulders. Reese stood up and tested the devices. He inclined his head in thanks.

“I will fly circuits of Brewster’s neighborhood and report anything suspicious to you.” He strode over to the round window; reaching out to work the latch. The glass pivoted smoothly on its support, swinging open to allow the gargoyle a quick exit.

John leapt up onto the sill, pulling his wings in tight to squeeze through the narrow opening. Clinging with one hand to the side of the building, he turned back to see if his partner had any final instructions.

"Be careful." Finch placed a hand on John's shoulder.

"You will be listening..." It was more affirmation than question.

"Always."

“Then I am in the best of hands.”

The familiar exchange was by now a litany that brought both a sense of comfort. 

Reese threw himself forward into the air. His wings snapped open, the smooth vanes of skin stroking downward repeatedly and lifting the gargoyle’s body to catch the updraft from a side street. He gained altitude fast, the strong wind pushing him towards the clouds. 

Finch watched as John’s figure dwindled into the night sky, sighing with just a hint of envy. _What must it be like to know such freedom? To fly under your own power, without engines or mechanical devices?_ Turning, Harold made his limping, painful way back down to the reading room. He would also watch and wait and do what _he_ did best.

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

“What happened?!”

_Geez for a guy with a gimpy leg, Glasses can sure hoof it when he wants to!_ Lionel Fusco panted as he struggled to keep up with the recluse.

“I _told_ you, I don’t know! One minute he was tailing the Brewster chick, the next I hear a gunshot and then a crash, like glass or something and him landing hard. You know the rest!”

_Indeed Harold did. He’d known at once that John was in trouble even before the detective contacted him, tracing the GPS tracker in the gargoyle’s earwig. He’d relayed directions to Fusco, instructing Lionel to meet him outside the derelict theatre where Reese’s signal had settled._

_Finch was agitated as he drove from the library, hearing the ragged sounds of breathing coming through his phone._

_“John? John, I’m close just hang on.”_

_**“Finch? It’s too late, dawn is coming...don’t-”**_

_Finch bit his lip at the harsh coughing on Reese’s end. He made an illegal left turn, jamming the accelerator to the floor and blessing the lack of early morning traffic._

_“Stay where you are, Detective Fusco and I are coming to get you.”_

_**“The sun is nearly up....don’t risk i-”**_

_John’s voice cut off even as Harold saw the coppery-orange glow of dawn creeping through the streets. The sunlight must have struck the gargoyle through a window; most likely the one Reese had crashed into. He would be helpless now, frozen in stone and unable to defend himself. Finch just drove faster._

Now as the two men picked their way through the accumulated debris from decades of neglect, Harold’s nerves were almost at their breaking point. As soon as he realized where John was, he’d immediately purchased the property, _all that blasted money is good for something..._

To the recluse’s surprise there were no vagrants or vandals to be chased off. _One less complication at least._ Fusco trailed him, carrying a paramedic standard trauma kit and Finch grimly thought that John's opinion of the detective just might be warranted. When Fusco contacted Harold at once to update him on the situation and get further instructions, the recluse had been wrong-footed. He’d expected the man to cut and run when things went south.

They reached the house and made their way backstage. There amid the remains of a broken skylight lay the gargoyle, stretched on his side...wings splayed and a grimace of pain on his face. Reese was sprawled in a jagged oval of sunlight, dust motes dancing in the breeze from the open hole above. Harold floundered into a kneeling position at his shoulder. _He’s so still...._

Finch knew the gargoyle was oblivious to everything when in his stone form but Harold still couldn’t help running fingers across John’s arm in a gesture of comfort. 

“Holy mother Mary and the saints....” Lionel rocked back on his heels. He’d never seen Reese in daylight before and his eyes all but popped out of his head. _Jeez, his wingspan’s like an ultralight!_

Finch pulled his eyes from the stone form and snapped out instructions.

“Detective,” he tapped into his phone even as he spoke “you have called in sick today and your son will be staying at his mother’s house until you retrieve him.”

“Wait, what? How can you-”

“Mr. Fusco!” Harold locked eyes with the heavy-set man, cutting him off in mid-sentence. “I realize you must have questions but at the moment, maintaining Reese’s safety is of top priority. If you check your phone, there is a list of items I need you to obtain. The retailers I indicate will have them ready for you when you arrive. Please get them and return here as soon as possible. Everything has already been paid for.”

“Anything else, Professor?”

“I will require you to keep watch and run interference if anyone attempts to gain entry into the theatre.”

“And what do I do, arrest ‘em?”

“Exactly.”

Lionel’s laugh was incredulous. “For what?”

“Criminal trespassing."

"The building's owner has to-"

"I _am_ the owner Detective.” Harold turned back to the gargoyle. “Now please hurry, time is of the essence.”

Fusco blinked down at the older man. _Where in the hell did tall, winged and creepy dig this dandy up...and more importantly why is he the boss and not ’batman’?”_ Lionel shook his head and pulling out his phone, consulted the list Finch had sent him even as he made his way back to his car. There was no two ways about it...his life was seriously and seven ways to hell, fucked up. 

Harold shivered, the cold stone beneath his fingers so different than the living warmth he was familiar with. To see his vital, larger than life partner diminished so, caused Finch pain. He hoped John was unaware of his condition but the expression of fear in the gargoyle’s eyes spoke volumes. 

“I know you can’t hear me, but I will not let anything happen to you, John. You’re safe...I promise.”

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

 

_Harlequin Royale Theatre, nine hours later_

“Thank you for your assistance today, Detective Fusco. I would ask that you wait in the lobby for us. I’ll call if you’re needed.”

The cop nodded and headed out to take up his station. Finch watched him go. The two men had come to a grudging understanding over the past eight hours and Harold admitted, without too much rancor, that Lionel Fusco had acquitted himself to the recluse‘s satisfaction. It was only the knowledge that John would prefer to re-animate without undue observers that caused Finch to send the detective away.

Now as the sun began to set, Harold readied the trauma kit and stood by to assist Reese however he might. The last of the reddish-gold rays faded from the sky and Finch heard the tell-tale cracking of the gargoyle’s stone skin. Chips of rock flew in every direction and Reese leapt to his feet, roaring as he lashed out with clawed hands.

“John! It’s alright, you’re safe!”

The creature turned in the direction of Finch’s voice and snarled, his eyes glowing white.

“John, It’s Finch!”

The gargoyle’s eyes dimmed and he staggered forward a step before falling to his knees, wings drooping to brush the wooden boards beneath him.

“Harold?”

“Are you alright?” Finch hurried to Reese’s side.

The gargoyle grunted, sitting back on his haunches and reaching up to touch his shoulder. Harold tutted, batting at John's hand impatiently. "Here, let me see."

The recluse examined the area with careful fingers. A circular scar roughly the size of a quarter marred the otherwise unblemished skin. Finch sucked in a breath. "You've been shot!"

"I'm fine....truly." The gargoyle amended at Finch's sour look. "It was a, 'through and through' as Lionel calls it." He waited with amused tolerance as his partner insisted on examining his back as well. Finch shook his head in disbelief. "Well....you've two impressive scars but the wounds have closed."

"I was fortunate the bullet did not remain in my body. I healed while I was dormant." Reese flexed his arm and wing, wincing. "It is still painful. I will not be flying anywhere this night." His gaze was apologetic when he met Harold's eye. "I'm sorry Finch, I've failed you."

"No you haven't." The recluse stood up and retrieved a soft pack cooler from his stash of gear. He unwrapped some pre-packaged sandwiches and gave them to the gargoyle along with a large bottle of water. "Eat." Harold ordered.

John did so without argument as Finch went on to explain that Fusco called in a 'shots fired' report to his precinct. Based on Lionel's eyewitness testimony, the forensics team were able to back trace the shooter to an apartment building one block away. There was enough evidence, including fingerprints to prove that Evangeline Brewster, far from being an innocent patsy, was actually the head of a penny-ante heroin ring the police had been after for the past six months.

"While I'm glad Ms. Brewster is in custody where she belongs, I regret your being injured is a result of that."

The gargoyle wolfed down the last of the sandwiches. Still feeling sheepish about his carelessness, John took in his surroundings. His eyes settled on the camp chair and pile of supplies close by. He turned to his partner.

"How long have you been here?"

"Detective Fusco contacted me when he heard you fall. I-"

"I remember. I also remember telling you to stay away."

"Well, we _both_ seem to have issues with taking directions don't we?"

Harold folded his arms and favored the gargoyle to his most disapproving stare. Reese felt amusement bubble up in his chest. Finch was the only human he'd ever met besides Joan who, after their initial encounter, treated him no differently because of what he was. John liked that and it warmed him towards the recluse all the more.

"Were you here all day?" The gargoyle repeated.

"Yes."

"You protected me when I was unable to protect myself. I owe you a debt, Harold Finch."

"You're my partner and my...friend. If anything, I am indebted to you for risking you life to help me."

John rolled to his feet and looked into the pale blue eyes of this eccentric, frighteningly intelligent man. _How strange that I feel so close a bond with him....that I could for any human._ A part of Reese that had lain dormant for far too long burst back into brilliant life. On impulse, the gargoyle reached out and embraced the recluse.

Finch was startled when Reese's arms wrapped around his torso and even more so when he reciprocated the gesture on instinct. He was about to say something when he was enveloped in a living blanket of warmth. John had encircled them with his wings. Harold felt awed by the intimacy of the gesture. Finch could feel the warm weight of John's chin on the top of his head and the rumble of his voice against his chest as Reese spoke in reverent tones. 

"Only _clan_ would do what you have done, Harold. I will always stand by your side."

They remained motionless for a long moment. Reese was the first to let go, his great wings furling against his back. "I will hide in the rafters tonight so that when I transform in the morning no-one will find me. By tomorrow evening, I will be able to fly again and will return to the library."

"There's no need." Finch tapped his phone. "Detective? Please meet us at the loading dock." He hung up and gestured to the oversized doors on the back wall. "I have a cargo truck waiting. Mr. Fusco will drive us both to the library." 

The smile on the gargoyle's face called an answering one up from Finch.

"Then I very much would like to go home, Harold."

**guardianguardianguardianguardianguardian**

NOTES: Alright, this is the end of the core story for my 'Guardian'-verse PoI AU. I will be posting a one-shot in the next couple of days which will....'cement' the partnership between Harold Finch and the gargoyle Reese. It will have little literary redeeming value, 'nuff said. Mark Snow will be making an appearance in later one-shots and be his typically evil, nasty little self.


End file.
